


quiet contempt

by candied_stupidity (efflorescent_idiocy)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Assassination, Ballet, Ballroom Dancing, Character Study, Crying, Dom/sub Undertones, Festivals, Fluff, Introspection, M/M, Making Out, Metaphors, Miya Atsumu is a Little Shit, Mysophobia, No Smut, One Night Stands, Reincarnation, Soft Sakusa Kiyoomi, Summer, Unrequited Love, Vampire Sakusa Kiyoomi, Werewolf Miya Atsumu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26903776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efflorescent_idiocy/pseuds/candied_stupidity
Summary: Sakusa suffers.A collection of drabbles for Sakusa Week 2020
Relationships: Komori Motoya & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Past Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu - Relationship
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	1. euneirophrenia (kiyoomi's dumb path home)

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively: sakuatsu needs to dtr
> 
> post-canon, canon compliant, no angst
> 
> The movie playing might be stupid, but Kiyoomi doesn't really mind because now, he's home.

Atsumu is not graceful. In fact, he's anything but, especially when he's trying to be. But sometimes, in the light of early morning, Kiyoomi will admire the gentled line of his jaw or the arch of his back and allow the writing ache in his chest to, for a single moment, still.

He looks so inviting, sprawled over the couch, and lit up by the sunlight creeping through Kiyoomi's windows. It's a much better look on him than what he usually goes for. That usually looks dumb. Probably because Atsumu is stupid.

But now he just looks soft. Fluffy hair, fluid lines, silky clothes, all of his normally offputting features look good. It's attractive, even though Kiyoomi supposes the dichotomy of his features in ordinary lighting can be too. He supposes - he's not sure if it's actually happened yet.

His mysophobia usually hangs off of him like a spoiled child clings to a piece of candy, but today the sight of Atsumu drooling on the couch has him sighing and sinking down next to him.

He mumbles something inane in his sleep, and Kiyoomi lets the urge to smooth his hair settle over him. He stops, checks himself, and considers. Does he want to touch Atsumu? Would it be okay to touch him?

Like most days recently, the answer is _yes._

He sifts his fingers through damaged hair and slowly drifts off to sleep, lulled by the warmth Atsumu radiates. It's strange, but sometimes Atsumu can knock his walls down with a breath.

Maybe that says more about Kiyoomi than it does about Atsumu.

When he wakes up, Atsumu looks like he's about to shit himself. He blanches when he realizes that Kiyoomi's awake, as if he had snuck in while Kiyoomi was asleep and worked his head under his hand.

He smiles, wide and menacing, watches Atsumu quail, and condescendingly pats his head. Then he gets up to make breakfast. He only grins wider when he hears Atsumu collapse behind him like a puppet with cut strings.

Kiyoomi sniffs. He deserves a nasty shock, looking like that so early in the morning.

He doesn't think he needs his usual routines as much as usual today, so he forgoes the measuring cups.

Then, Atsumu gets over whatever he was panicking about and comes into the kitchen. He hums a pop song under his breath while he washes his hands and sets the table. Kiyoomi doesn't recognize it, but now he kind of wants to.

After they eat, they jog and then come back to their apartment to finish last night's movie. It's some stupid action movie, but it was mostly quiet enough for Kiyoomi to think.

Kiyoomi perches on the couch, and Atsumu takes the floor. He leans on Kiyoomi's thigh, and Kiyoomi doesn't hate it. Now that's what Motoya would call _character development._ He frowns. What, exactly, is _character development,_ and how does it apply to Kiyoomi?

He brushes it off as another of his cousin's hijinks.

Atsumu's being twitchy, so he stiffly places a hand in his hair and lets it rest there. Atsumu freezes, and he doesn't hate that either, not with how warm he is and how nice it is when he _shuts the fuck up._ No stupid stammering allowed.

And so, he decides that this is home. Their apartment, food in his gut and a warm head on his thigh, is now home. And home, for the first time in a while, is _warm._


	2. condemnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a way to become a true god, a deity - it's just not theirs (nor will it ever be).
> 
> supernatural au

_There is only one good thing about being a vampire,_ Kiyoomi decides. Only one good thing about being so sick and depraved and dirty that he can never cleanse himself of it.

It's minimal, but he never has problems moving because of his skin. He can scrub and scrub and tear his skin to the point of blood, but it'll heal in seconds if he's been taking care of himself.

Walking is never painful, he never has those awkward dinosaur arms, and he can put lotion on without pain.

It's the best thing about this illness by far.

His phone rings, signaling the passing of an hour. It's time for breakfast now, so he gets up and grabs a bag of blood from the fridge. He checks for puncture marks, and it seems that he has tested this bag.

He rips into the bag and wrinkles his nose at the taste. It tastes like dirt and, somehow, milk. It's a disgusting combination, and blood is also disgusting because it's filled with germs.

Someone thumps incessantly on his door. Most people might open the door, assuming an emergency, but Kiyoomi knows who it is. It's his worst nightmare and his least favorite part of the sickness.

Miya _fucking_ Atsumu.

"Omi-Omi," he calls. "Let me back in! I got yer witch-glass!"

Kiyoomi blinks. Alright, then. He decides that not only can Atsumu come in, he can even be bumped up to second worst on the list. As he opens the door, Atsumu perks up, and his glamoured tail begins to wag.

 _"Tadaima!_ Omi-kun, didja miss me so much that you let me in without even making me bathe in Purell?"

He scowls.

"Give me the witch-glass and take a shower."

At the very mention of a shower, he completely withers.

"Not even a _hello?"_ he wails. "No _good job for traveling across the country?"_

He pouts, big and sad, and with the biggest puppy dog eyes possible. It's not going away any time soon unless Kiyoomi takes extra measures. He sighs and accepts the germs. It's not like it can make him sicker, anyways.

He smiles gently, pulling the familiar fondness in front of him like a mental shield, letting Atsumu look at the dimples he's so oddly fond of.

 _"Okaeri,_ dear. Thanks for getting my witch-glass," he teases, planting a kiss on Atsumu's cheek.

He shortcircuits, and Kiyoomi just smirks and pushes him into the bathroom.

"That satisfactory?" he calls behind him. "You know what to do."

He hears the shower start up and smiles, pleased as the cat that ate the canary.

He has instilled the fear of both God and Kiyoomi in him, and he's done a good fucking job of it.

This illness, he decides, makes him hungry and desperate. Sometimes it's for blood, other times it's for nasty werewolves and the cute faces they make.

Nevertheless, he is so hungry it has devoured him alive, tarnished his hands with the blood of everything he's ever swallowed. _(That's why he wears gloves - so he never has to see the stains.)_

Atsumu is hungry too, but his hunger burns, unlike Kiyoomi's, which takes things out with a killing freeze. His is obvious, humongous, a monster looming behind him. Kiyoomi's is subtler, a shadow lurking under his skin, but then again, it's just as hungry and twice as mean.

( _Atsumu_ has always been susceptible to guilt. It's never been a thought that crossed _Kiyoomi's_ mind. It was strange - but was it really?)

They are monsters, ravenous gods, people hallucinating in their sickness. It is wretchedness wrapped in a hallowed cloak, torn at the edges so the hellions peek out. They have drowned, choked by their own gluttony, and emerged divine.

_What is a god?_

Kiyoomi smiles fiendishly and decides: there truly is no better way to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was told i should put an explanation here.  
> sakusa views vampirism as a disease, and when he refers to hunger, he mostly means greed for various things - like atsumu. feel free to ask if you need any clarification!


	3. temple bells ringing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gods don't die, but Kiyoomi has.
> 
> historical au, reincarnation, death (not explicit)

Kiyoomi is not immortal. He dies and lives in cycles, lives in patterns and routines. Nobody shows up every time, but some show up quite often.

Motoya, for one, usually a relative or best friend. Iizuna-san, always older, and wise as he always has been. Wakatoshi-kun, strong and perpetually confused.

There are two people, Kiyoomi knows, that know of reincarnation as he does. The Miya twins, always silver and gold.

They don't always show up, but the lives where they do are usually Kiyoomi's favorites.

This life, he decidedly does not like.

The people _(rats and snakes)_ who surround him are stuffy at best and of dubious morals at worst.

He sniffs haughtily. Why must Motoya invite these sorts of people? He always ends up doing this kind of stuff. Kiyoomi knows what's coming.

A man, fawn _kimono_ rippling, approaches him, _geta_ clacking loudly against the stone path. He looks to be one of those on the shadier side of the party guests.

He turns his head, and Kiyoomi startles, struck by the foxlike mask he's wearing. It's dark, the details delicately drawn in a violent red, other than the painted tears spilling down its features. _Who would wear such a thing?_

(He knows it's Atsumu.)

"Now what would you be doing at a gathering as filthy as this, Omi-kun?"

He takes a sip of his glass of _sake_ before discarding it to the side.

"Nothing I wouldn't be willing to leave for," he says, eyes like deadly aconite. He realizes that he recognizes the red - it's the same shade as the foxgloves in his garden.

Atsumu's face would, if Kiyoomi could not see the smugness behind it, look like a grin.

(The next day, they find his body in the gardens, cold, dead, and rumpled. The police decide that his drink was poisoned, but the case goes cold.)

The next lives are filled with war and cold and hunger. Kiyoomi is an immigrant, once, just as Germany is closing its borders. He quickly realizes it's a mistake.

Crammed next to him on the train is a child, eyes wide and amber. His twin is next to him, but his eyes are gray.

Kiyoomi opens his arms, and the brothers run right in.

"Omi-kun, I don't like this life," Atsumu mutters, curled up against his chest.

Kiyoomi says nothing, but Atsumu knows he agrees.

* * *

Time quivers when they meet. Fate holds its breath, hoping for a happy ending. The thread linking them grows strong.

Nobody has invented the word 'soulmates' yet, but their souls twine nonetheless.

* * *

They are in Salem now, and aside from needing to avoid other people, they can live peacefully.

Although, sometimes peace needs to be thrown around a little bit, if only to keep things interesting.

"Let's witchhunt tomorrow," Kiyoomi murmurs from his side of the room. "I wanna burn a witch together. Put on a show for me, won't you, darling?"

Atsumu grins, smile blooming like belladonna. His teeth are even and white.

"Of course," he simpers.

His expression darkens, and he pads over to whisper in Kiyoomi's ear.

"I'll make _sure_ it's something you'll like."

"Nasty," Kiyoomi bites out, but he tips Atsumu's head down for a kiss anyway.

They kiss for a long time, long and hard enough for Kiyoomi's lips to bruise.

"Oh, Omi-kun," he purrs. "It'll be the nastiest night of your life. And the best, of course."

After all, gods are built off of worship, and who better to be believers than them?


	4. a quiet hope for clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Motoya sobs. Kiyoomi is still.
> 
> death

The festival is noisy, crowded, and, overall, the grossest place Kiyoomi has ever been.

Motoya laughs and pushes towards the candied apple stand. The workers are wearing gloves, but it's not up to his standards (nothing ever is). Motoya buys him a candied apple so he can eat two when Kiyoomi refuses it.

(These days, Kiyoomi doesn't hate the thought so much.)

"Let's find a place to sit for the fireworks..."

They weave through the crowd around the _taiko_ players and settle near the graveyard, next to a gravestone they cleaned earlier. Motoya lights some incense, claps his hands together, and mutters a quick prayer.

Kiyoomi can still hear the taiko drums over the crowd and vendors. He wonders if they've gotten to the part with the fans.

They (Motoya) begin to eat, making sure not to spill anything to keep Kiyoomi's blanket clean.

He is dragged back to the mess of people once, twice, three times, for _yakitori,_ then cotton candy, then popsicles.

Motoya will need to brush his teeth very carefully tonight. Kiyoomi decides to try and remind him.

When they finish with the stalls and the food, they sit in silence. It's comfortable, like always, but oddly wistful this time around. There is nothing to be yearning for, but Kiyoomi doesn't say it.

After a while, Motoya brings a volleyball out and starts to toss it around. Kiyoomi follows suit with his own.

It is the quietest he thinks Motoya has ever been. It's a little unnerving, but he isn't too worried about him. His cousin has always been good at taking care of himself.

The fireworks begin, and he stops looking so pensive. He smiles brightly, transfixed by the bright colors.

The festival is a lot quieter now, with most people watching in silent awe and the taiko show over.

Nobody is near them since they're in a graveyard, but the grass near the lanterns bursts with patterned _yukata._

The fireworks end, and the crowd begins to drain as people stop to grab a snack before leaving.

"Y'know, Kiyoomi," Motoya says.

Kiyoomi looks over to him. Tears are running down his face, and the melancholy look has come back.

"I know you would have hated the festival, and that's why we never went to of of the big ones. I hated it when we were little, y'know."

He breaks off, sniffling, and pauses to wipe his nose before continuing.

"And so that's why I went to this big festival, because I'd always thought it would be so fun. A-and now, it's just not any fun, because I can't help but think that _you_ wouldn't be having any f-fun!" he sobs, smearing at his face with his sleeves.

Kiyoomi wants to reach over and wipe them for him, but he can't, so he stays still.

(Kiyoomi, now, finds that he is usually still.)

"I miss you so much, Kiyoomi," he whispers. "I'd go to tiny festivals for the rest of my life if it meant I could go with you again."

Kiyoomi sighs.

"I am always with you," he murmurs, strengthened by something he does not know.

_(I am not in the grave, but with you, he hopes Motoya can hear.)_

Motoya raises his head, and for a second, Kiyoomi hopes that he can see.

"I wish, Kiyoomi," he says. "I wish."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, sakusa is dead. i'll let u know if komori saw him.


	5. intrepid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> atsumu is bad at feelings and sakusa's not much better
> 
> mentions of a one night stand

Motoya used to rope him into playing heroes and villains, like the books he had loved so much. Kiyoomi had sighed and agreed, mostly because Motoya had always been his favorite.

Kiyoomi tried to convince himself that now was no different. He was playing the villain again, and Atsumu was the hero instead of Motoya.

It was simple. After all, Kiyoomi had always been adept at playing pretend.

The lump in his throat makes it hard to push the words out, but he gets there.

"No, Miya-san," he bites out. "I will not be staying the night."

Atsumu's expression almost crushes him. He isn't sad, nor disappointed, but merely confused, probably at Kiyoomi's frigid tone.

"Jeez, Omi-kun, I thought we were over the Miya-san thing. I know ya got that germ thing, but ya don't have to bite my face off."

Kiyoomi leaves, but heartbreak comes as soon as he steps out the door. By the time he's in his apartment, tears are sludging down his face, all attempts at his usual blank facade gone.

He's not quite feeling things correctly, he finds. Sensations are dulled, and emotions pushed away in favor of the numbness looming over him.

He decides the pain will come eventually, and that he should be glad for the additional time to process.

After he showers thoroughly, he allows himself to properly ponder during his skincare routine.

Atsumu probably doesn't have a skincare routine. He wrinkles his nose - _country boys._ He spends so much time on his hair, too, more than Kiyoomi.

There was no winning with Atsumu. He came in, smashed Kiyoomi's expectations to pieces, and left like he wasn't trying to pick up the shards of his boundaries.

There were better people to crush on, to let into his space. _Worse people, too,_ another part of him said.

Kiyoomi gnashed his teeth. He hated the part of him that had sunk its teeth into Atsumu and refused to let go. It was the sentimental part, the romantic bit, the thing that was the opposite of literally everything Kiyoomi needed right now.

He needed to be apathetic, cruel, menacing. He needed to play the villain, and his heart didn't want to.

_Damn it._

* * *

He strides across the locker room in long, measured steps. He'd purposely changed at home so he could avoid Atsumu as much as possible.

Most of the team call greetings at him, save Bokuto, who is willing because Akaashi shot him down again, and Atsumu, because he isn't in the locker room at all.

Kiyoomi frowns.

_Strange._

He steps into the gym, and his shoes squeak uncomfortably loudly against the wooden floor.

"Ah, Sakusa," Meian calls. "Good to see you."

"Good morning. What's the schedule for today?"

"Conditioning - hopefully nobody collapses this time."

Kiyoomi licks his lips, smiles in a way he knows looks more like baring his teeth.

"Excellent."

There will be no room for thought, and Atsumu isn't here to remind him.

* * *

Kiyoomi drags his feet on the way home. He nearly forgets to wipe down the doorknob, the elevator buttons, and his shoes.

When he opens the door, Miya Atsumu is waiting for him inside, like the worst surprise party ever.

His eyes are red, hair mussed and greasy, and he's still as a rock in a chair at Kiyoomi's table. _(He's still lovely,_ Kiyoomi's heart says, fluttering at the sight of him.)

He recoils.

"At - How did you get into my apartment? You look terrible - are you sick?"

Atsumu laughs half-heartedly.

"Don't be silly, Omi-kun. I wouldn't drop by if I was sick or dirty, I know better. And if you must know, I asked your landlady."

_(Play the villain. He has to play the villain.)_

"Why are you here," he says flatly. It's not really a question, but more of a request. _Be here for something that won't hurt or get out._

"We need to talk."

His breath catches in his chest, caught somewhere in his tracheal cartilage. _Does he want to fuck? Be friends with benefits?_ His heart squeaks, _be boyfriends?_

He squashes the thought and sits down across from Atsumu.

"Talk," he says.

"I want you, and you want me too. What are we gonna do about it?"

Kiyoomi breathes deeply. _It's villain time._

"No," he sighs. "You don't want me."

Atsumu looks like he's been slapped.

"What-"

"I'm not stupid, Miya-san. You cry every time he calls you, never visit Hyogo, and the one time we fucked, you called me 'Kita-san'. You might call me Omi-kun, but I know you look at me like I'm a washed up Kita Shinsuke."

He gives Kiyoomi a guilty look, like he hasn't realized or thought about it on his own. _(He kinda looks like a drowned chihuahua,_ a little part of Kiyoomi thinks fondly.)

"I'm sorry, Omi-kun. I didn't think about it like that. I'm still kinda getting over it-"

He only needs five seconds of bravery.

"I am not a rebound," Kiyoomi says.

There is no room for argument. He's thought about it before and decided what he wants.

"You're right - I do want you. I don't think you want me. You want Kita-san, and I am not going to stand in for him."

_(He's done it. He's done it, he's done it, he's done it. There is no going back.)_

Atsumu's face falls.

"Wait, Omi-"

"There's never going to be an exception. I know you pretty well, Atsumu. Try again when you're over him," Kiyoomi says, the harshness drained from his voice.

Atsumu falters. Then he crumples, burying his face in his hands and sobbing.

Kiyoomi tries not to follow suit. He expected this, after all.

"'M so sorry, Omi-kun. I-I just thought I was over him, but you're so much like him, and I like _you_ too, but I c-can't stop remembering," he wails.

He pats Atsumu on the shoulder, as gently as he can for a person made of sharp edges.

"The best way to get over it is to find closure, Miya-san. Confront him and talk it out. It'll resolve itself from there."

He lifts his head to give Kiyoomi a watery, slightly fake smile.

Kiyoomi does not smile, but he lets his face soften for an instant.

_(Everything with Atsumu was in instants - because that was all he could have.)_

(Kiyoomi doesn't really want to go back.)


	6. there is no god) if there were, kiyoomi wouldn't be here)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miya collapses under his gaze (as he should).
> 
> Somebody stage whispers, "Ooh, he's fucked."
> 
> It's probably Suna-san, so he points a finger in his direction, and the snickering immediately stops.

The only soft thing about ballet is the tulle of the skirts they give to little girls who are just starting out and the smiles on their faces, and even then, that is not always the case.

Ballet is not gentle. There is nothing _soft_ about pointe shoes and spotting and strained joints, nothing soft about the dancers, either, except for the way their skin looks in harsh stage light.

Kiyoomi is not soft. People have told him he's elegant, graceful, beautiful even, but he is not soft, and he doesn't pretend to be.

Miya Atsumu, the ballroom dancer that practices in the next studio over, irritates him before he even gets through the door. Kiyoomi doesn't know how he wins competitions with that ugly mop of hair.

Motoya laughs and asks if he's ever seen one of Miya's competitions.

He hasn't - why would he? He hums irritatingly and leaves.

That night, he finds one of his competitions on Youtube. It's a waltz, and as he watches it, all he can think is that it's _soft._

It's hard work, sure, but when he sees fluttering fabric and high heels, he can only think that this waltz has barely any of the unyielding agonies he loves in ballet.

He watches a salsa next, and - well. This one is a little better. There's less of the flowy fabrics and more dramatic pauses, but knowing Miya, that is to be expected anywhere possible.

The final video is a tango, and in that one, Kiyoomi can see a little of the reason Miya chose ballroom dancing.

The appeal is not in stretching and fluorescent lights like ballet - it is, perhaps, in the beat of the music, the click of shoes on hardwood floors, the awe at perfect footwork that took hours to perfect.

There is nothing gentle, nothing soft about that tango, only the illusion Miya creates.

Kiyoomi watches and decides, grudgingly, that the lead is a role that suits Miya. He hates to feed his ego, but he looks at home, guiding his partner exactly where he pleases.

While they're stretching that night, Kiyoomi says, "I have now."

Motoya just hums smugly, like the _bastard_ he is.

* * *

That week, Miya stops in to catcall Kiyoomi and bother the rest of the studio, like he always does when he figures out there's a rehearsal.

"Omi-kun, you should stop by when we have practice," he teases. "I'll teach you a thing or two."

Kiyoomi stops, considers the precise footwork to perfect and the satisfying click of heels on wood.

"Okay," he grits out, working out a tricky jump. The entire room freezes. Atsumu's mouth is hanging open. Everyone is staring at him. Someone curses quietly and attempts to discreetly hand Iizuna-san a few bills.

"Is this a hallucination?"

Suna-san, who had also stopped in _(most likely for the food)_ seemed to be even more surprised than Miya.

Kiyoomi frowned. Perhaps they thought he was accepting Atsumu's advances.

"The footwork training will help with my jumps," he clarifies.

Everyone sighs, relieved, and the room starts to move again. Miya, being Miya, loudly complained.

"Omi-Omi, I thought you finally gave in and wanted to try ballroom out, not that you'd take advantage of me to improve yer ballet," he whines.

He pauses at that and gestures at the music boy (he doesn't know what his name is).

His music shuts off, and the chatter starts to dry up. This is where he'd usually kick Miya out.

"Miya, do you know why I do ballet? Have you ever used even a _single_ brain cell to wonder why I ruin my ankles every week?" he asks, coloring his words with scathing scarlet to let him know just how much he's fucked up.

Miya collapses under his gaze (as he should). 

Somebody stage whispers, "Ooh, he's fucked."

It's probably Suna-san, so he points a finger in his direction, and the snickering immediately stops.

"...No," Miya admits.

Somehow this is equally as irritating as when he's being smug.

"Consider common sense before you let stupid things out of your mouth. Also, rehearsal ends soon - get back to your own studio."

The look Miya gives him is acrid on his tongue. 

Suna-san sighs and drags him out.

Kiyoomi sighs contentedly. What would he do without Suna-san?

* * *

_(Three months later)_

"Kiyoomi, you've been working with Atsumu for a few months. Haven't you worked enough on your footwork?"

"We're going to enter a competition."

Atsumu leaps through the door and pecks him on the cheek.

"Hey Omi-kun!"

He says nothing and nods, wanting to listen to Motoya's response (snd also because he knows Atsumu will deflate like a balloon, and his ego could use that).

Motoya chokes. "What the fuck? Are you dating? Why didn't I know?"

Kiyoomi scowls at him. "I told you last month while you were on your phone. I said that I was going to wait for you to figure it out if you didn't listen. I even told you Atsumu thought my ass looked good in slacks."

"They were really obvious!" Iizuna-san calls.

Motoya's face flushes red.

"You look like a tomato," Kiyoomi points out.

The music boy (who's name Kiyoomi _still_ hasn't found out) bursts into giggles. He's getting a raise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm planning on writing a full version of this


	7. heat wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He slinks off to the bathroom and takes his time - just for funsies. A long, drawn-out groan echoes behind him as he shuts the door.
> 
> A smile of triumph appears. It's too bad Atsumu isn't here to see - he'd hate it.
> 
> teasing, dom/sub undertones, nothing explicit

Heat is insufferable, and summer is a constant internal battle.

It's not a problem for Atsumu, who's in his old volleyball shorts and a tank top. It is for Kiyoomi, who is currently regretting every insulating property of his favorite jacket.

Atsumu drapes himself across the couch.

Kiyoomi shudders and scoots away from the human furnace.

"Omi-kun, you shouldn't wear that jacket if you think it's too hot," he drawls, smiling slyly. "Taking it off might provide _relief."_

He doesn't mean a word he says.

There will be no relief in shedding his layers, because Atsumu is just as hot as his jacket, and he'll be on top of Kiyoomi as soon as the jacket comes off.

"Maybe," he murmurs, deliberately glancing up at him and unzipping his jacket.

He can hear Atsumu's breath hitch as he understands what Kiyoomi means.

"Be good and maybe I'll take off more," he commands.

They're not going to have sex today - he can tell for sure - but other things are up for negotiation.

He casts a long glance at Kiyoomi's shirt and eventually pads into the kitchen.

Smugness pulls at his mouth, but he keeps the snickering quiet. He has a feeling Atsumu can hear him, but he doesn't really mind. Pissing him off is a favorite past time, anyway.

* * *

Practice is a breeze - for Kiyoomi, at least. He thinks Atsumu is having a tougher time with it, since he seems distracted.

He slips and falls on his face yet again, and even Hinata-kun laughs. He whines when Kiyoomi won't pull him up, even though he knows he's a sweaty mess. Atsumu pouts anyways, the one that makes him look a bit like a frog (he doesn't know that, mostly because he'd stop).

They end early because of it, but Kiyoomi doesn't mind if it means they can get popsicles. He chooses soda flavor and eats as slowly as possible to watch Atsumu's dazed expression. They exchange popsicles, and he licks it twice instead of the agreed once, but there's no reaction.

He sulks a little the rest of the way home.

The second they step through the door, the pleading frog expression makes another appearance.

Kiyoomi savors the sight of his pouting boyfriend and pointedly raises an eyebrow.

They're still disgusting, and he's hungry (Atsumu's feelings will not be taken into consideration, because that bitch was always hungry).

He slinks off to the bathroom and takes his time - just for funsies. A long, drawn-out groan echoes behind him as he shuts the door.

A smile of triumph appears. It's too bad Atsumu isn't here to see - he'd hate it.

* * *

Atsumu is off the couch the second he cracks the bathroom door open.

"Iwentgroceryshoppingwhileyoushowered!" he shouts, wrestling his way into the bathroom.

Kiyoomi wrinkles his nose and makes his way into the kitchen.

True to his word, there are groceries on the counter - all of his favorites.

He whistles, slightly impressed. Atsumu must be getting desperate - how delightful.

Still, he might have to speed things up a little, just because the gesture is so _sweet._ Kiyoomi feels nauseous from even thinking of the word.

Dinner is simple - just so he doesn't have to wait.

When Atsumu comes out, he's barely bothered to dry his hair. It's still damp, and Kiyoomi wants to run his hands through it. He waits - delayed gratification is always something he's been good with.

They sit down and tear into the food. Atsumu eats as quickly as he can, and even Kiyoomi kind of wants to eat a little faster.

It's Kiyoomi's turn to wash the dishes, so Atsumu vanishes into the bathroom to brush his teeth. The water running over his hands is cold, but it's not going to help the heat, though it's a little cooler.

He brushes his teeth thoroughly and makes his way to their bedroom.

Atsumu is sitting on the bed, fidgeting with the sheets. He lights up at the sight of Kiyoomi but tries to tamp it down. He looks good enough to eat, so both of them are going to get treated.

"I think you were pretty good today. What do you think?"

He nods frantically, eager to get started.

So he unhooks his mask, dropping it in the trash on his way to the bed. He stops next to it, purposely looming over Atsumu. Then, finally, he takes his jacket off.

When he gingerly takes a seat, Atsumu is on him. He's squirming in his lap, trying to get Kiyoomi to touch him, and stills when he's pinned on the bed.

It's incredibly hot, both figuratively and literally. As he predicted, the body heat is nearly unbearable. There is no escaping the heat, but this is much better than a jacket, even if it's his favorite one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @BloomingIdiocy on twt!  
> sorry for reposting, i just wanted to move my works to this psued


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